In the film, The Notebook, Ryan Gosling, a top notch crush of mine, leaned towards Rachel McAdams to give her the most delicious kiss and I heard: Mwaahp! Mwaahp!
Damn, there must be something wrong with my Cochlear Implants. I took one off, gave it a shake, put it back on and the Mwaahp had disappeared. Satisfied I sat back and enjoyed the film. It was afterwords, discussing it with B, that I discovered she too had been a Mwaahp eavesdropper!

The next night exactly the same thing occurred. This time we were watching a film with a huge gunfight.
Bang! Kerching! Explosions occurred. A stream of shots and….Mwaahp!
B, John and I looked at one another.
“Did you hear…”
Mwaahp! Mwaahp!
“It sounds like a frog,” B commented.
“Yes, it did sound kinda frog-ish,” I replied.
The movie finished and B and John were instantly into finding this very disruptive frog. They had two large baskets of wood in the lounge near the wood burning stove.
“It could be amongst the wood,” John said as he started unpacking the basket. B started on the other. We soon had two mounds of wood lying harum scarum across the lounge floor but not a frog in sight!

“Gaynor, come here quickly,” B called from the kitchen the next morning. “Meet our nightly lyricist.”
There, sitting in Perdita’s water bowl, was a completely unfazed toad. Not a frog, as we had supposed but a fat, large and rather ugly toad. It gazed up at B and I as if to say: “What are you getting your knickers in a knot about? This bowl is a perfect pond for me at night. No one uses it then.”
I picked the toad up and we gazed at each other. The toad stared into my eyes with a long, steady, look. The look almost made me uncomfortable. It was a look that seemed to say: I know you. I know!
“Vincent, that’s what we’ll call you. Vincent!”
I smiled at this knowing, totally unimpressed toad. 

We put the balefully glaring Vincent outside but once again during our evening television the Mwaahps began their melodic racket. John turned the sound down and he went and stood in front of the television. The Mwaahps continued unabated. John looked at one of the music speakers on the floor and said: “I think I’ve found Vincent’s hidey hole!”
Sure enough, when you put your ear next to the speaker the Mwaahps doubled in volume.
“Oy, Vincent, that is enough,” I said loudly into the speaker.
There was a pause and then a softer, almost questioning: “Mwaahp?”

The picture of a princess kissing a frog and it turning into a prince played into my mind.  Fairytales! Where would we be without fairytales? Fairytales have a long lasting power and influence. Indeed they are ingrained into our lives. It’s thanks to childrens books and the wonderful Walt Disney that today so many people are aware of fairytales. And yet they have been around for hundreds of years. The stories we know today are the product of countless retelling and reimagining. During the nineteenth century, the brothers Grimm created some of the original tales but they certainly didn’t shy away from ‘grimm-ness’. The evil stepsisters felt nothing about slicing off bits of their feet in an attempt to fit into the glass slipper! I can imagine some young boys getting a macabre delight at such a feat. Walt Disney is far more to my liking!

I smiled to myself recalling the wonderful childrens fairytales that I had grown up with.
“The Frog King”, was one of them. I thought of Vincent in the speaker and I smiled.
This story is used to teach us a lesson about inner beauty. Only after the princess kissed the frog — thus admitting that looks don’t matter — did an amazing thing happen. The frog was transformed into a handsome, smiling prince. Since my accident this lesson has come home to roost! I often want to upbraid people who see my physical disabilities and thoughtlessly presume my mental abilities must also be impaired. The brothers Grimm actually had a very different ending in their first version of the story: The prince only magically appeared after the princess chucked the frog against the wall. Ah ah, I’m very glad the Grimms brothers re-wrote their ending. I am not into frog-abuse!

My sister, Liz, reminded me that she was involved in a production of The Frog King  at Brescia House, our old school. We were fortunate enough to have Ann Hamblin, the wonderful singer and performer teach us for a couple of years. In this production, she cast Liz as the frog. I love the fact that today, Liz still remembers the words and actions of the song she sang when she was 12:
Oh woe is me
I’m a frog, I’m a frog so small
Oh woe is me, I’m really not a frog at all
Today I look at the pictures of her taken at the time and my heart simply melts.

I was 6 years old when I was treated to the delight of Walt Disney and saw the magical fairytale of Snow White unfold. “Heigh ho, heigh ho, it’s off to work we go….” sang the seven dwarves and Snow White’s: “With a smile and a song….”
I still have those songs filling my heart with joy, jubilance and a lightness of spirit.
I grew up with the story of a beautiful woman cast into an deathlike sleep after eating a poisoned apple, surrounded by the seven dwarves who I adored. She was woken by a handsome Prince’s kiss. Many years later you can imagine my surprise on reading the brothers Grimms original story. In the Grimms’ tale, the Prince convinced the dwarfs to give him the coffin. When his men carried it, they stumbled and jostled the coffin badly. In so doing, the poisoned apple was jolted out of Snow Whites mouth. She ‘came back to life.’
I’m a kiss girl. Give me the Disney version any day!

I was amazed to discover that Cinderella didn’t get her glass slippers until 1697. The rags to riches story at the core of Cinderella had it’s earliest roots in China. Then in 1697 Charles Perrault published a version which gave his fairytale heroine her beautiful glass slippers. He also added the pumpkin which turned a mesmerising carriage that took her to and from the ball. I laugh to myself, thinking that he and Janice Honeyman would have truly hit it off. Janice is the  ‘directrice superbe’ of our South African pantomime. They would have spun wonderful ideas off each other! 

At this Coronavirus time, hugging and kissing are a definite NO NO!!! I have been giving this matter considerable thought and I could still get some kissing in – with Vincent! Yes, I know that Vincent is not a frog but a toad is pretty similar. What would happen if I was to give Vincent a kiss? Would a gorgeous Prince Charming appear? Or would the fact that he’s a toad mean that I would have a Donald Trump on my hands?

I must give this matter considerable thought!

The post Once Upon A Toad! appeared first on 'ear 'ear! by Gaynor Young.

And speaking of wavelengths, I give so much thanks for the wavelengths provided by technology. During this lockdown, we have all been able to stay in contact with family, friends and business associates through FaceTime, Facebook, WhatsApp, Skype, Instagram, Zoom etc, etc and etc!

During this lockdown period, I have been staying with B and John. I wanted to move in with Mums but was unable to because of her burglar alarm system.
B is an avid cyclist. I really feel for her during lockdown because cycling has always been a necessity for her. The other morning, I received a WhatsApp message from B: ‘Come out into the front garden NOW!’
I rushed out and began to laugh. B was lying flat on her back, seated on her bicycle. Her legs were pedalling at this joyous rate.
“I’m fly-cycling!” she laughed.
B proved to me that where there’s a will, there is always a way!

B’s next door neighbour, Di, is on our WhatsApp group. Life seems to bubble out of her. She offers up smiles to the world. I laughed at B’s husband, John, when he said:
“She has a low voice. Very low and…sexy!” and then continued reading his book.
I wish I had a low voice. The actors, Dorothy-Ann Gould and Janet Suzman have beautiful, low voices. And that lowness is marvellously sexy!
Di’s effervescence often has her giving off a humorous side to life. Before South Africa went into lockdown, Di placed a hilarious picture on George Friends. It was a picture of her and Mike, her husband, dressed up in dark glasses, masks, green rubber gloves and slanting Panama hats. They look as if they were dressed to rob a bank. We all thought it was hysterical. Little did we realise that three weeks later, that appearance would be the norm for anyone outside their home. You look askance at anyone not wearing a mask!Di reminds me of Kilroy. We will be out in the garden when her joyful smile appears above the wall. A quick chat always brightens our uneventful days!

Jans is a member of the group. You can never mention Jans without taking into account her dogs. They are an intrinsic part of her. Kayla, the Collie, Finn and Dazzle, two rough haired/broken Jack Russell’s, and Bayz who is an utterly endearing ‘Brak’! I feel for Jans during this lockdown. She is used to taking her dogs for two hour hikes in the forest. Now she is confined to her home. She has put a hilarious video on George Friends of an obstacle course that she has devised for them in her garden. I am dying to see the antics of the dogs and the obstacle course after lockdown. Knowing Jans and her dogs, they will probably perform each antic to perfection! She also set about redecorating her home and posted the results on the group. I marvelled that we were all able to share in Jans’ beautiful new look in her lounge through technology.

My bedroom looks out on this gorgeous common, more houses and then my eyes are caught up by the beautiful Outeniqua Mountains. The other day I got a WhatsApp message from Sue saying: “Dave and I are passing the common. Look out for us.”
Sure enough, a few moments later their car approached. B, John and I waved madly. As it drew opposite us, suddenly we saw the English flag of   St. George flapping at us from the driver’s window. We laughed out loud. A half hour later, the car reappeared with a South African flag waving frenziedly as Sue and Dave returned home.
“They kept the best for last,” I remarked to my two English friends!

It was Sue’s birthday a few days ago. We bought her a lovely pot plant and messaged to say we were coming round to drop it off. It felt utterly ridiculous driving the fifty metres to Sue’s house, but those are the rules in South Africa. Rules I completely agree with and respect! It was gorgeous seeing her happy face and enlightening smile. From six meters away. I long for her gorgeously served tea, scones and cake all placed on her beautiful china. Sue has promised us wonderful delectable delights once this lockdown is over.
Most of all though, I missed hugging her.

During this lockdown, I have become so aware of the value people have for me. The preciousness of hugging people is inestimable.      

Ingrid is our botanist and athletic Park Runner!
I will come back from a Park Run or in my case a Park Walk and on George Friends say to Ingrid in great excitement: “I saw such a wonderful plant on the Park Run today. It was this mustardy/orange colour and it was clinging onto this tree. Mmmm, maybe it was the fruit of the tree. Yes, it could quite easily have been that.”
Ingrid, who had done the same Park Run asked me whereabouts I had seen this odd looking fruit. I was able to describe the exact spot because it’s quite near the end of my run-walk.

“Ah, Gaye, that’s a fungus. It’s a…..” and she gave some dreadful Latin name. That took away the excitement of finding my mustard fruit. Then she added: “Wasn’t it otherworldly beautiful?” and my excited discovery was restored!
I love Ingrid for the wide, openness of her heart. She gives so freely and I find that I am often on the receiving end of her free spirited giving!

I have known Christine for years. She is a reliant, dependable person, someone who I feel I can call on in an emergency. Just before the lockdown, my friend had lost her Collie one morning in the forest. He had been hit by a cyclist and had run off in a panic. At ten o’clock that night they called off the search. It began once more the next morning. B stopped searching in the forest, picked me up and we then drove around the neighbourhood looking. On the way, we encountered Christine and told her the story.
“Right, you go that way and I will go this.”
Three quarters of an hour later, she pulled up alongside us.
“No success but I will spread the word.”
And she did.
And just to finish this story, the Collie was found!
Christine is from Manchester and has a wicked sense of humour to go with her Mancunian drawl. She keeps us entertained on George’Friends with snippets of BBC comedies like The Vicar of Dibley and The Two Ronnies much to my delight! – (Press links to watch!)

The last person to make up our group is Mums.
It was not my idea to have Mums join George Friends. No, the others insisted!
‘She is so much fun. Combined with her practical wisdom, she is a definite MUST!’
It thrills me to have Mums liked and admired by my friends. She is one of us!

Our group has just celebrated it first anniversary. George Friends has shown hilarity, concern, advice, recipe making, and recently, during lockdown, it’s shown people, infected by one another, pouring gorgeous glasses of gin! It has and still is filling us with joy and laughter. That is something often needed in this lockdown period. Thank goodness for George Friends!

Picture a stunning stained glass window. It is made up of intricate pieces of glass that are startling in themselves. These fragments shimmer and shine in a crystalline manner. However, it is when they are put together, with each little piece containing a magic of it’s own, that the stained glass window begins to make sense. It begins to glisten, gleam and beam with a radiance all it’s own.
Each of my friends possess an inner and outer radiance. Put them together and they begin to shine, shimmer and reflect, glistening off each other.
This is the magic of George Friends! 

The post WhatsApp: ‘George Friends!’ appeared first on 'ear 'ear! by Gaynor Young.

“To eat is a necessity, but to eat intelligently is an art”
Francois de la Rochefoucauld

Vitality!

I have a Vitality Card.
This little card gets me into movies for half price, gives me special savings at gym as well as flight savings. I am sorry that I’m not allowed to drive because it also gives me fuel savings. It is a wonderful little card and it requires that you stay healthy. Once a year you are meant to go for your Vitality Check Up.

My friend, B and I had gone for our first Vitality Check Up two years ago. This included a cholesterol check up. B’s cholesterol level was 5.3 whereas mine was a mere 5.1. B was warned not to let it get any higher. I practically danced out of the chemist that day. This was one area where I was stronger than B – cholesterol!

B had been told that eating porridge in the morning was a sure way to keep your cholesterol down. Yuck, porridge reminded me of that watery mush we used to eat at boarding school. So B now indulged in Jungle Oats each morning and Yours Truly gave a cheer for her low cholesterol! It was yoghurt for me. If I remembered. Every morning, we would go up to Ground Control. There they not only have the best cafe latte and cappuccino, but they also have my delight of delights – carrot cake! 

My Vitality Card caught my eye languishing in my purse. Oh uh, B and I were at least eighteen months late on our check up.
“Hey, yes, I’d forgotten about that. Let’s go now,” B replied.
I wasn’t all that keen. I certainly hadn’t been eating porridge and I knew my diet had not exactly been up to scratch. I followed B into the chemist. She went first.
“Your cholesterol is 5.1”, she was told. “That’s fine.”
It was my turn.
The woman in the chemist looked at my results and said: “I’m afraid you’ll need to see a doctor, ma’am, your results read: 7.6”
“Seven point…six?” I said in a trembling voice.
I was sent to the PathCare Lab where they could give me a more precise reading.
It was worse: 8.5!

No more Lindt Milk White Chocolate! No more cream on my bananas! No more cream in my Nescafé White Chocolate drink! Noooooooo! I couldn’t survive without my beautiful Parmelat Cream and my Nescafé Chocolate drink. When I woke after my afternoon rest, I rejoiced in making myself that mug of deliciousness. I would lavishly pour in cream along with the chocolate powder and milk with relish. Then in the microwave I would avidly watch the cream rise. It would ascend to the top of the mug and I would switch off the microwave. The drinking was a complete pleasure. I was a total master at such a craft!  Now I had to give up all cream! I felt like putting my head back and letting out a loud wolf’s howl that would have caused the rest of the wolf pack to creep away in shame!

I reflected on my eating habits. For the past year I hadn’t been eating at all healthily. Forget about three meals a day. I would begin my day in Ground Control demolishing their carrot cake. Often I wouldn’t eat much else during the day. Nothing except a slab of totally delicious Lindt White Chocolate which would be devoured with gusto. Sometimes I would find that I had demolished two!!! Was it any wonder that I lacked enthusiasm following B into the chemist?
“Your eating habits are going to have to change Ms.Young!” said B.
She was right, oh glory, she was right!

I went shopping and do you know the first thing I bought? Porridge! Gaynor Young was planning to go back to her childhood and eat porridge. But I discovered this very pleasant box filled with  banana, strawberry, apple and caramel sachets of porridge. You simply pour boiling water over them and then if you want, fruit can be added. I bought raspberries, bananas and strawberries. The first morning I was a little apprehensive about this strawberry porridge I was preparing. But by the time I had added the hot water, stirred and thrown in a chopped up banana and a couple of raspberries, it actually looked remarkably tempting. Tentatively I took a mouthful…and smiled. This porridge banished all memories of boarding school moosh. What a delicious treat!
I also started eating three meals a day. This was not easy for me as my stomach had shrunk. This Gaynor of three meals a day and no cholesterol ploughed on.

In order to lower my cholesterol, the doctor prescribed statins. My sister, Liz, was staying with Mums over Christmas and I saw a lot of her and her family. Liz began to get a cold and sniffed and coughed horribly. They then left and I thought: ‘Uh oh, I think my throat is getting sore!’
My throat came right but I began to cough. Badly! 

My doctor put me on a course of antibiotics and strong cough medicine. I finished the antibiotics but my cough had not finished with me by a long shot. It was so frustrating because I would be fine until I began to talk. Then this hacking creature would attempt to mime what she wished to say. Not an easy thing to do because I had been told that when coughing, you shouldn’t cover your mouth with your hand. This is because you then spread germs by touching things. You have to cough into the crook of your arm. Apparently, this is far more healthy. It might be healthier but with a spastic right hand side, it is not always easy!

B went overseas to visit her Dad in January. I knew that she was treating him to three days in London. I was dying to find out how their trip to the Royal Opera House to see La Traviata had gone. We Skyped each other.
“Gaye, we are having a wonderful time!”
“Great!..(cough cough cough)…tell me..(cough cough cough cough) how was…(cough…cough..)”
“Your cough has got worse. You should be on antibiotics.”
“I need…(cough cough…) a lovely…swig…(cough cough cough…) of my gorgeous…cream!”
B was not impressed with my sense of humour!
“(Cough cough….) How was…La…(cough cough cough…)”
“How was London? Absolutely fabulous!
“(Cough cough…) How was…(cough cough cough cough…)”
“You need to be on antibiotics!”
I wanted to say – I am!
All I could manage was:”I…(cough cough cough cough cough…)”
“I have to run. Dad and I are going out to dinner. See you on Tuesday. And get some antibiotics!”
I was on frikking antibiotics!!!”

What was so incredibly strange was that I didn’t feel sick at all. I just had this hideous cough. And the cough seemed to have started about three weeks ago, when I began the statins. I opened Google and began perusing everything about the side effects of statins.
“If you develop a cough after taking statins, with no evidence of interstitial lung disease, then this will be resolved by ceasing the statin treatment.”
I stopped using the statins and the next day the unendurable coughing vanished!

Having no statins, it was suggested that I took Rychol, a homeopathic medication meant to reduce cholesterol. 

Last Friday, two months after my ‘disastrous’ diagnosis, I returned to the chemist and asked for another cholesterol test. The pharmacist took my blood, consulted her chart and looked up at me grinning: “4.5!”
I then sped off to PathCare and got a more precise reading of: 4.9.
I was ecstatic!

I have learned a very tough, difficult and vitally important lesson:
You must eat correctly!
You are what you eat. I often used to take a carton of cream and have a long, delicious swig. Those days are now over. I will now eat three meals a day, as most human beings do.

And, my delicious bowl of porridge will definitely continue!

The post It’s Vital! appeared first on 'ear 'ear! by Gaynor Young.

“A friend is someone who understands your past, believes in your future, and accepts you just the way you are.”
– Unknown

Actor, director, scriptwriter, screenwriter, editor but more importantly, one of my truest friends – Shirley Johnston!
Now please, all of you non-theatre people, don’t think: “Ah uh, this blog’s not my type!”
Shirley goes much further than mere theatre and film, as you will see!

Shirley and I have been friends for about thirty-two years.
“How did we meet, Shirley?”
Knowing my shocking memory after my fall, she filled me in.
“We met at the Othello audition. I didn’t get the part I wanted but you were cast as Bianca the whore. You were a beautiful up-and-coming young actress from Durban and you made a huge impact on me as a glorious and talented performer. We soon became friends. You often came round to our house in Bramley to visit and play with my young sons, who were then aged 6 and 8. I always remember arriving home from a long weekend in Durban and on our doorstep was a chicken casserole which you had cooked and left for us.”

Shirley and I were both rehearsing at The State Theatre in 1989. She was rehearsing Under the Oaks and Over the Hill with Bobby Heaney directing. I was rehearsing Camelot. The night I had my fall as understudy for Guinevere, they had already moved to the Windybrow Theatre. She heard the shocking news at their interval but ‘the show must go on’!

Two year after my fall, Shirley and her husband, Dave, gave me this wonderful thirtieth birthday party. All my friends came and it was there that I gave my first post accident speech. The speech was slurred but understandable. I concluded with the e.e.cummings poem: i thank you God for most this amazing day
There weren’t many dry eyes but that is the enchantment of his poetry. It was the most unbelievably happy day for me. 

Shirley is like that. She is a Giver. She always makes my heart smile!

My parents bought me a computer after my fall. The idea was to coax me into using my right hand which was now spastic. I tried, I really tried but eventually my left hand became my right. I used to labour for long hours writing letters to friends. I wrote often to Shirley and she promptly answered back. I moved to Headway in Johannesburg and whilst there, I stayed at St Giles, a home for the disabled. After my therapy, I used to come home and write. I wrote about things that were important to me: my loss of memory, my deafness, my spasticity. I knew that Shirley, as well as being an actor was also a writer. So I duly sent these missives to Shirl. I would always get  encouraging letters back. One day I sent her my sixth re-write of an essay on my deafness. Instead of getting a reassuring, positive letter back, I received a letter that blatantly criticised everything I had written. How dare she? I was totally furious! I went to bed and tossed and turned with resentment. The next morning, I re-read her criticism. Calmer now, I was able to see that everything she had written made sense.
I wanted to write a book. I could only do that with Shirley as my editor. Shirley agreed. 
My book writing began.

Shirley said: “You sat there doggedly typing with one finger for weeks and weeks on end. You ploughed on determinedly, displaying that amazing Gaynor Young mettle which few people in this world possess. We argued like sisters. I remember spending a weekend with you in George and your parents heard raised voices. I had to talk loudly because then you were very deaf. It was before your cochlear implants. Your mum came into the dining room.
‘Are you two fighting?’ she asked, concerned.
‘No, just discussing,’ was the answer!”
My book My Plunge to Fame was published in 2000. I could never have accomplished it without Shirley’s encouragement, criticism and her absolutely belief in me.

In 1993 Shirley wrote Plastics and was mind blown to win the National SACPACS Best Playwright Award. It was produced in Johannesburg, Pretoria, Cape Town, Stellenbosch, Grahamstown and Australia! A few years later, in 1999 she won the M-net New Directions Scriptwriting Award, for Clean Hands. Shirley was on a roll!!!

Early in the 2000’s, she came across a story that she had written for her sons when they were youngsters called Felix the Flautist. She could turn this story into a film script, she thought with mounting excitement. And so Felix, King of the Sax was born. I had no idea that with this script, Shirley went on to win the Sithengi’s 2004 Writer’s Forum Award. She was a finalist in the US Specscriptacular Competition; and was a quarter-finalist in both the Francis Ford Coppola’s American Zoetrope Screenplay Contest and the Moondance Screenwriting Competition. 

If I had been winning all those awards, I am pretty sure that I would have phoned all my friends and let them know in no uncertain terms how brilliant I was! This is one of the many things I love about Shirley. She enveloped herself in the satisfaction of the prizes and began looking for a way to get it made into a film. It took nine years before the wonderful Roberta Durrant got things swinging into motion. The script was filmed and released in 2013 as Felix! The film went on to garner seventeen international awards, including the Muse Award for Best Screenplay in 2014.

Recently Shirley has been performing with Lynita Crofford in Gertrude Stein and a Companion, directed by Chris Weare. It amused me the way it all began. Lynita Crofford had been performing successfully in two one woman shows. You either shine or you die in a one woman show. Lynita’s shows did wonderfully. But it is a lonely process. I remember longing for someone else onstage with me during my one woman shows. So Lynita was searching for a play for women. And she found the perfect script in Gertrude Stein and a Companion.

She had been directed by Chris Weare before and loved his work. He said yes instantly. Lynita needed to find another female actor to play opposite her. She didn’t even consider her close friend, Shirley. She knew that she was involved in writing projects. On Shirley’s birthday, while having coffee with her, Shirley mentioned that she wanted to take a break from writing. Lynita’s smile engulfed the room.
“I have the perfect birthday present for you, my friend. How would you like to play Gertrude Stein opposite my Alice B. Toklas?”

When I acted, thirty years ago, there were theatre companies: PACT, CAPAB, NAPAC and PACOFS. These companies provided work centres for the actor. Now they no longer exist. Actors are employed by various theatres that put on a constant variety of shows. Shirley, Lynita and Chris formed a small, independent theatre company. It is difficult for them to make a profit. They have to pay for the cost of hiring a theatre, publicity, stage management, employing technical staff and the rights of the play. I know that Shirley and Lynita teach during the day. Because of this, they could afford to put on the production. The three of them worked all day and then met and rehearsed in the evenings. The result was astounding!

They opened Gertrude Stein and a Companion at the Alexander Bar in June 2018 for two weeks. It was such a resounding success that they returned in October for a further two weeks. In 2019, they took it up to Johannesburg, the Hilton Festival and also to Dublin, Ireland. In Ireland both performers were nominated for best actress in the Dublin International Gay Theatre Festival.
Lynita won! 

“Never have I ever wanted to jump up and shout “Encore” at the end of a play, that is, until tonight!” wrote Correy Sutherland in her review of the production.
Megan Furniss in her review says: “I am seldom jealous of beautiful scripts, but this one made me wish I had written it.
Both Lynita as Alice, and Shirley, as Gertrude, are superb. I have never seen either of them do anything like this and they are absolutely charming, clear, bold and amazing. Lynita’s Alice is solid and terse and grumpy and witty. Shirley’s Gertrude is expansive and cheeky and bold and lyrical. Her warmth and sparkle radiate from her. I loved the characters and I loved the performers playing them.”

Being involved in the theatre nowadays is tough. Nothing is handed to you on a plate. Gertrude Stein and a Companion came about through three people’s intense passion and a desire to see the production come to fruition. The winners of course are us, the audience!

In June, Gertrude Stein and a Companion is being performed in Hermanus. This is a performance I will not miss!

My memory of becoming friends with Shirley is gone. I have no memory of a before and after.
Shirley has always just been a part of me. At that Othello audition, a special person entered my life.
For life.

I think of Shirley and once again, my heart smiles……..

The post My Multifaceted Friend! appeared first on 'ear 'ear! by Gaynor Young.

I sat looking at the first garden I have ever owned and his words played around in my head. There was so much light and colour but these were emphasised by the rich dark shadows. Most people would laugh at my garden’s size. It is about ten steps long by three steps wide. Yet the  pride and enjoyment I get from those ten by three steps is extraordinary! But like a lot of beautiful things in life, the beauty had to be worked for and earned.

I moved into Malbar Square, a attractive complex of flats where no pets were allowed. Except for Perdita, my wire-haired dachshund. She is allowed because I am deaf and what a great little guard dog she has turned out to be. I have a small wooden fence placed around my flat so that Perdita doesn’t go merrily sauntering around Malbar Square. Within that fence I have space for my own private garden.

When I was an actor, the stage was my stamping ground. Now my garden is my stage. And it is there that this new director experiments and tries out her new approaches and techniques.

Dad, Mums and a friend, Jean, came around to my flat with shovels, clumps of Mondo Grass, Hydrangeas and Arum Lilies. Outside my door in Durban, I had two trees that sat in pots. When I moved to George the trees accompanied me. Dad dug deep holes and they were introduced to their new home. They must have cheered at getting their roots into the rich George earth, underneath a beautiful sun and sky adorned with mountains. On the pavement, overlooking my apartment was an enormous tree. It overshadowed the whole garden so my plants had to be cast accordingly. The production they were in was one of a greenish tinge. Arum Lilies starred, growing beautifully in their shady environment. It was in December that my Hydrangeas, grabbed what little sun there was, and smiled out at the world.

“The shadow is the greatest teacher for how to come to the light,” Ron Dass remarked.
A good friend of mine, Jans, helped my garden throw off unnecessary shade and ‘lighten up’.

She studied my garden and said to me: “You don’t show much interest in your garden. I think it’s because you can’t get at it.”
She was right. The Arum Lilies and Hydrangeas grew next to the fence which made them easy to water and pick. The rest of the garden just grew without my having much say in the matter. Jans is doer and thrives on manual labour. The next day, she arrived armed with a wheelbarrow, rake, spade and plenty of black bags.
“What are bin liners for?” I inquired.
“You’ll see,” Jans replied already setting at my garden with a rake. She cut back, re-planted and I discovered that my garden had a mass of unwanted growth which I helped pack into the bags. I certainly found out what they were for. We went off to a nursery where I picked out tiles which Jans embedded into my soil making a definite path through my garden. We stood looking at the finished product. The whole garden seemed to breathe more easily. I could now stroll through it, watering jug in hand, admiring and adjusting on my way.

There was a commotion outside and Perdita was barking madly.
They were chopping down the big old tree that overshadowed my garden. It came away in bits that were black inside. I love trees but the fact that this was rotten somehow made it easier to see it go. And with the tree gone, my stage changed! I could now put on productions that were light hearted in colour. The radiance spilled into my garden displaying places that had never known the taste of sun. It positively seemed to be gleaming in the newly discovered rays. With the light, colour entered my garden with force. 

I could now have plants that loved the sun! I could put on productions that instantly put a smile in your heart. I wanted a yellow daisy bush. My friends didn’t share my love of yellow daisy bushes but I was desperate for one. I bought it home from the nursery and ENTER GEORGE and ESAU!!! Together in my complex, they garden, fix what needs fixing, remonstrate with me for going out on a cold day without a jersey, and are just wonderful, giving individuals. George saw me with a shovel in my hand and instantly berated me in Afrikaans.
“No, no, Gaynor, you don’t do that well. I will do it.” He planted my daisy bush while I made us both a cup of coffee. My yellow daisy bush got bigger as the months moved on but the daisies didn’t seem as prolific as I’d seen on other daisy bushes.
‘This needs thinking about,’ I mused.
I discovered the joy of Gazanias. How I love their bright purple, orange and gold faces sparkling back at the sun! I planted blue and pink daisy bushes and my Arum Lilies simply took off, sprouting like mad all over the garden. 

Before I left for England this June, George and Esau approached me.
“Your garden is looking a mess,” George informed me. He certainly didn’t mince his words!
“While you’re away, we will get your garden looking like a woman with a new hat!” said Esau. “She will look truly beautiful!”
“Okay,” I laughed, “go for it!”

“If you don’t have any shadows, you’re not in the light.”  – Lady Gaga

I returned in July to a garden that was different and beautiful in so many ways. The Mondo Grass which had taken over my whole garden was now a thing of the past. My yellow daisy bush which had grown to epic proportions with very few daisies had been cut in half and was now blooming incredibly. The garden’s beautiful new hat sent shimmers of joy rippling throughout!

Recently, Jans and I went off to the nursery to get my birthday present. Jans was buying me a rose. I had my heart set on a yellow one but Jans showed me a variety she liked. I can best describe it as antique plum in colour. I fell in love and splashed out on a beautiful container for it. I was told that I had to soak it in water for the first week. Religiously I would feed Perdita in the mornings and then the watering of my rose would begin. It was not a case of simply emptying a jug of water over my rose. Oh no, watering your rose is far more complex. You pour water into the pot and then have to wait while the rose slurps it up. Then you pour more, wait and more. That first week ‘Rose’ drank and drank and positively seemed to flourish. A couple of days ago, I noticed that Rose is pregnant. She has four buds, each encased in their own small, tightly furled cocoon. I get such immense pleasure coming out to greet Rose and inspect her brood each morning.

Why does this garden of mine now give me so much pleasure? My walking is not all that steady along the little paved path Jans has planted. The fault obviously being mine not the little paving stones beckoning me forward. Every time I look at my garden, I glory in the vibrant colours literally calling out to me: “Hey there, Gaynor, isn’t this sun great?” or “Gaynor, I haven’t got time to chat. This rain is totally delicious!”
I always speak in a soft tone when I speak to Rose. After all she has four babies on their way!

I look at my garden and I glory in the production it is staging. It is not perfect and that is what I love about it. It is like us humans. It has beautiful places and spots that you can work on endlessly. There are places of light and shadow. 

That is how it’s meant to be.

“There is no light without shadow and no psychic wholeness without imperfections.” – C.S. Jung

The post Shade and Light! appeared first on 'ear 'ear! by Gaynor Young.

Gaynor-twirls are not always successful. Often instead of going in a perfect round spin, my body teeters, leaning Tower of Pisa like, and then plummets to end up in a most undignified heap. This time however, my body did a Tower of Pisa lean, wobbled to the correct angle and finished in a Gaynor-twirl of perfection! I will leave the style of that perfection to your imagination!!!
“I love being in Hampstead,” I cried.

Hampstead seems to have a buzz about it. My friend, B and I left the home where we were staying and headed straight for our breakfast haunt, Le Pain Quotient. It is a charming little coffee shop that seems to have a golden glow of warmth inviting you in. We always head straight for the same table that looks out onto the busy street. What a blissful way to begin our day. Sipping hot chocolate, devouring a warm, crispy. buttery almond croissants and planning the day ahead.

Leaving the coffee shop, my eyes lit upon an antique shop about fifty metres away.
“Oh, B, I know I can barely afford to ‘breathe’ in there, but please, I have to go in.”
We passed through these luxurious old green curtains that had bells attached. The owner, a red haired, green eyed woman, alerted by the bells, looked up at us.
“May we just look around? I can’t afford to buy anything but this shop simply enticed me?”
The owner laughed. “Look around all you like,” she said in this gorgeous Irish accent.
What glorious and splendid treasures met my eyes in that trove of a shop. A eighteenth century silver box that would have looked so perfect on my dressing table. It was going for £523. A touch out of my price range! 

We wandered around Hampstead and discovered a quaint bookshop. How I love bookshops. This was my favourite kind because it was a second hand shop. It had old books peeping shyly down at me from atop their shelves. Right at the back, on the fifth shelf there was an red book that seemed to be beckoning to me.
“Yes, come nearer, come on,” it seemed to say, “you’ll like what I contain between my covers.”
I reached for the book and it slipped between my fingers and fell open onto the floor.
“Glory, I’m sorry!” I said to the shop assistant as I gently picked it up. “Oh, it’s Yeats,” I said.
The book had fallen open on He Wishes For The Cloths Of Heaven.
“Gosh, this was one of the first poems I learned at drama school. After my fall, it was a poem that I managed to re-learn.”
“Say it for me,” B asked curious.
I shut my eyes briefly and from somewhere inside of me the word came tumbling out:

Had I the heavens’ embroidered cloths
Enwrought with golden and silver light,
The blue and the dim and the dark clothes
Of night and light and the half-light,
I would spread the cloths under your feet:
But I, being poor, have only my dreams;
I have spread my dreams under your feet;
Tread softly because you tread upon my dreams.

On our way to Belsize Park tube station, we took a short cut up a pathway that snakes past the Royal Free Hospital where construction work was under way. Hoardings had been erected with a startling difference. That was when I saw them. The paintings!A 30-metre-long outdoor gallery with impressive large scale reproductions of paintings imprinted all the way. I drew in my breath sharply and simply stared. They were laminated paintings that were of Hampstead and other areas in London. They were startling in the striking colours and their vibrancy was almost stupefying. I moved from one painting to the next, drinking in the images shining out at me. On the last hoarding was a write up about the artist, Oliver Yu Chan. It began:
The paintings displayed here are by local artist, Oliver Yu Chan, born 8th December 1986, a young man on the autistic spectrum.
This artist was autistic.

I have a friend that has a young autistic daughter who I recently met. I came away knowing that I needed to understand this disorder more. Autism is an intricate developmental disorder. It is made up of social and communication difficulties. Self-stimulatory and repetitive behaviours result and narrow, overly-focused interests. I saw all this that day at my friends house. Her daughter was unable to talk and was perhaps thrown and disturbed by my presence. This resulted in incredibly repetitive behaviour. There is a school of thought that seeks to manage and control it. There are also those that see autism as a neuro-diversity that needs to be understood. Once understood, then the person’s potential can be realised. This I believe is the method Oliver Yu Chan’s mother took. 

As a young child, Oliver had very little speech and language and couldn’t sit still. He was perpetually on the move. He had many ‘obsessions’. His mother, Caroline, was always keen to encourage artistic interests as way of diverting him. She presented her child with a picture of a hedgehog.
“Oliver, do you see this picture of a hedgehog? Try and copy it,” she coaxed.
Oliver, whose attention was always flipping from one thing to another, looked at the picture, slowed down and began to draw. He recreated it beautifully. He looked at his picture and he smiled. As he later said: “That was the beginning of my ‘Amazing  Journey in Art’.” 

Oliver ‘speaks’ to the world through his paintings. I have found more of his art on the internet: oliveryuchan@tumblr.com
It was there that I discovered one of my favourite paintings. It was done  in 2018 and is simply called: Freud Museum London in Swiss Cottage. It is merely a picture of a house with a car parked outside. Yet it speaks to me of the artist. A man who sees our world as a place of colour and vibrancy. Isn’t his sky ringing and shouting beauty into the world?

Hampstead sparkles with an energy and vigour that stimulates me. We boarded the tube and the doors shut on Hampstead.
“If I were to live in England, B,  there is no doubt in my mind that I would live in Hampstead.”
B laughed.
“Oh, you of champagne taste, you would never be able to afford it!”
“Ahhhh, but I would choose a ‘partner’ who would,” I joked back. “Or, you never know, I might win the Lottery!”

Hampstead, brilliant, glorious Hampstead!!!

The post Hampstead Happiness! appeared first on 'ear 'ear! by Gaynor Young.

I mentioned to a group of friends that B and I were going to see Les Misérables. Tammy Bonell Garner gave a laugh of pleasure.
“Gaby (Lomberg), you and I went down to Durban for the weekend, to see a musical called The March of the Falsettos, don’t you remember, Gaye?”
I shook my head.

“The show wasn’t coming to Johannesburg and we had quite a few friends in it. So I drove us down there and I happened to have a CD of Les Mis in my car. We put it on and sang along all the way to Durban. We stayed at your aunt, Libby’s home and left really early on the Monday morning. We had to get you back for a rehearsal of Othello at 2.00 pm. I remember we ran out of petrol, just as we got to Jo’burg and we were all hysterical! But luckily enough, we were able to cruise to a garage not too far away and fill up. So you arrived on time!!!”
Isn’t it strange how bits of my forgotten past continue to reveal themselves?
I lost my memory in a fall. Discovering bits of my past that have been hidden from me for twenty-nine years is an otherworldly experience. When this occurs, I am always surprised, amazed and often filled with delight.
Another memory given back to me to store away!
This explained why I knew Les Misérables so well!

B wished to make this theatre experience unforgettable. So, B being B, she contacted the top person in control. She wrote off to none other than Cameron Mackintosh, the theatre producer of Les Misérables! She explained that the two of us had booked to see the show. She then told him that I had been an actor and had an 18 metre fall from the stage during a performance of Camelot. Was there any way, as a treat, that we could have a tour backstage. She received a reply  from the Company Manager, Hannah Shafran, saying she would be delighted to show the two of us around.

We arrived at The Queens Theatre at a quarter to six. Warm eyes greeted us as we introduced ourselves to Hannah. We followed her along backstage corridors and suddenly we were there – on stage. We looked out at a beautiful, old theatre that must have seated over a thousand people. Our attention was called back from the auditorium to the stage.
“If you look at the floor you will see a round, movable stage. This is actually integral to John Napier’s stage design.”
Looking down, I could see that we were standing on a large disc-like piece of flooring that had various markings and notches placed in certain locations. Obviously they were distinguishing symbols by which the stage hands moved the rotating stage into different positions. 

Gazing upwards, I saw figures hanging eerily in a cluster. I stepped back in horror. Then I thought: ‘Gaynor, you are in a theatre, you Dweet, they are merely props!’
I studied them. They were figures in soldiers uniforms. I laughed softly to myself. I was really looking forward to this show! 

Hannah called us over to the Stage Managers desk. Written on the wall in front of it was a well known name. It was a name of royalty in the theatre and film world: Judi Dench!
She had seen the show and loved it. Apparently she had been performing in the theatre next door, The Gielgud. She had a long gap in her performance during which she nipped across to The Queens, still dressed in costume. She stepped onto the stage of Les Miserables during the barricade scene and entered into Victor Hugo’s world for a brief moment in time. Giving careful note of how long she dallied in that world, she withdrew when necessary and raced back to step into her performance at The Gielgud.
I love the daredevilry of such a feat!

“How many people do you have working backstage?” I asked.
“Apart from the performers, there are about 66 of us,” Hannah answered.
“Sixty-six,” I gasped. I had never worked with that many people backstage. Les Miserables must have to have a highly organised system to deal with the backstage workers and the forty-four performers working together to perform a marvellous show.

We were walking across the stage, on our way out when Hannah called out: “Hi, Dean!”
“Hi, Hannah!”
“Dean, meet two friends of mine, B and Gaynor.”
While we were shaking hands, Hannah said: “You will be seeing this man in an hours time onstage. This is Dean Chisnall. He plays Jean Valjean.”
“Oh, my goodness, the lead!”
“One of the many,” he laughed.
“I can’t believe it. Please may I have a photograph with you?”
And that was how Jean Valjean and I ‘got together’. In the photograph, I mean!!!

Les Misérables wasn’t everything I was hoping it would be. No, it was far far more. Each new scene I would imagine the backstage crew quickly going about their work. The performers would be doing their quick changes into costumes I had seen placed in the wings. Seeing the  soldiers bodies lying on the stage, I knew where they’d come from.

This was the penultimate performance of Les Mis. The following night, this version closed it’s doors for the first time in thirty-four years. The cramped backstage area of the theatre was due to be torn apart and restructured. Les Miserables is also going to be refurbished. To me, it seemed perfect as it was. But I appreciate, that you should always look forward, seeking improvement.

I marvel at the mastery of Trevor Nunn and John Caird who have adapted and directed this show.
One of the reasons Les Miserables stands out as the masterful musical it is, is because of it’s incredible teamwork. One tends to come away saying: “Oh, wasn’t Éponine wonderful in her song: On My Own” or “Jean Valjean and Javert were utterly incredible.”
What about the lighting, the stage sets, the magnificent stage management etc, etc and etc! Nothing could happen onstage without the incredible backstage team. Laugh – as an audience, you don’t give the backstage a thought! You don’t because you are devoured by what is happening before you, onstage. 

This is as it is meant to be!

*

**

To listen to my favourite number from Les Mis, ‘On My Own’ click here!

The post Beyond the Stage! appeared first on 'ear 'ear! by Gaynor Young.

One morning, my best friend, B, said to me: “I think we should visit Blakeney today.”
“Blakeney? Who’s Blakeney? I haven’t heard you mention this person before?”
“It’s a place, you dweet! It’s a gorgeous little coastal town with a creek running through it. It will give us a beautiful walk.”
So we set off for Blakeney. 

Blakeney was a commercial seaport until the early 20th century. The harbour has since silted up, and only small boats can now make their way out past Blakeney Point to the sea. The harbour and surrounding marshes are owned by the National Trust. It is a nature reserve and indeed that day we saw seals cavorting in the sea and basking on the shingle.

We got out of the car and I looked at the creek before us. It stretched as far as my eyes could see. We had timed it just right as the tide was out. The air tasted salty and fresh as we began to meander our way along the edge of the empty creek bed. The creek was filled with small boats impatiently waiting for the water to return them to the floatation they so enjoyed. Seagulls whirred above us.  The air buffeted my cheeks to a rosy glow. I smiled at our walk because we had to dodge puddles of sea water left in the creek by the tide. I had no wish to drench my cherished Veldskoen in soggy puddles. Laughing happily we zig zagged our way up the almost  empty creek bed.

What a charming little village Blakeney is. Cobbled streets and houses gazed contentedly back at us. Higher up the village, the Church of St Nicolas seemed to be waving it’s arms at me. Or should I say, the two towered church definitely seemed to beckon. I could almost see the towers giving little wiggles of invitation. It has two towers: the main tower is more than 100 ft (30 m) high and a well-known landmark for miles around; the smaller tower was built as a beacon to guide boats into Blakeney Harbour. At the time, I had no knowledge of how high the towers were. I was soon to find out!

Jesus says: “Whenever two or three people are gathered in my name, I am there also.”
I have been to a service in a little tin shack and God has been there too. But oh, how much more of an awesome thrill it is entering a beautiful church. I walked into the Church of St Nicolas which was constructed in the late 13th century and gave a sigh of satisfaction. The stained glass windows, the old tiled floor, the priest’s lectern shaped like an eagle, the specially crafted pews with a families crest embedded into the centuries old wood and the stupendous vaulted ceilings.
“Oh, B, the wonderful graveyard outside and this on the inside. I love St Nicolas’s Church!”
“Look here,” B said interrupting my rapture, “It says: ‘Tower Open’. Should we climb it?” she asked eagerly.
I looked at my right leg incased in its stern black brace and thought: ‘This brace makes me walk better. I’m sure I can manage a few stairs.’
“It will mean you going up slowly with me, but yes, why not?”
We opened the door and with me leading the way, we began the climb.

You couldn’t call them stairs. They weren’t big enough for that. Perches is what they were. Your foot perched on one before the next foot quickly moved up to the following perch. And they didn’t ever go straight. Oh, no, perish the thought of anything being that straightforward. No, your way was constantly curving round and round and, blast it, round. I felt like one of those pole dancers, her limbs constantly entwined around that ridiculous long shafted pole going up, up, and up. On my right was a rope which I grasped tightly the entire way. After having ascended a mass of curving steep perches, my eyes finally fell upon a door to my left.
“Thank the Pope, we’ve made it. Here’s the door!” I exclaimed.
“No, Gaynor, look the steps carry on.”
Being 40% blind, with no peripheral vision, my eyes had missed out on seeing the never ending curve to the right.
Flipping heck, B was correct! There were mountains of steps ascending to my right. My legs continued moving upwards.
“Oh, look, Gaye, we are as high as the second church tower.”
‘Look’,  you must be joking! My eyes were on one thing and one thing only. Getting to the top of these damned, constantly pole dancing perches.

I had no idea it would be such an incredible mission. I had thought we were climbing the second smaller tower. ‘Pah’, inwardly I grunted in disdain, the smaller tower would have been easy! I continued my uphill struggle with sheer determination. No damned church tower was going to get the better of me. I came around the corner to be met by this large brown door.
“I think we have made the top!”

I heaved the big brown door open to be met by a roof surrounded by open blue sky and two old people!!! One of them was a very large man. How did he manage to get himself get round those small, tight, curving coils of corners? This is an unsolved mystery to me! They greeted us with friendly smiles and continued to talk amongst themselves. B and I moved to the tower wall and looked out at the beautiful country side spread before us. I looked at the smaller church tower that we had passed on the way up with a little self satisfied contempt. We could see miles and miles of green countryside that led to the creek and the sea. So beautiful I wanted to cry.

I also wanted to cry at the thought of going all that way down. I am always rather dicey at going down steps, never mind perches! B went ahead of me so that she could break my fall if it happened! I was determined to count the steps. I wanted to know just how many there were!
It took us an absolute age. I truly admired B. This is the kind of thing she does regularly in the mountains. Now, here she was going ever so slowly because of yours truly!
We finally came around the last curve, opened the door and were out.
We had coiled and twisted on three hundred and eighty steps.
Three hundred and eighty perches!!!

I could barely walk. I had used muscles that had happily been sleeping for years.
But I was so proud of myself.
I FaceTimed Mums and she gave a full, delighted laugh when I told her of my days expeditions.
“My goodness, I am thinking of the doctor who told me you would never walk again. Not only did you stroll over Blakeney marshes but you also climbed to the top of a church tower. How I wish that doctor could see you now. Well done, my Girl.”

I guess the thing to do is never to limit yourself. By limiting yourself, you are creating boundaries. I have a Mother that didn’t believe that I should lie in bed, facing the wall. Why shouldn’t Gaynor learn to ‘dance’ again???
I give so much thanks for that kind of thinking. Because of that thinking I am able to wander up a creek bed with my best friend.

I am able to experience the heady delight of standing at the top of a church tower!

The post The Blakeney Climb! appeared first on 'ear 'ear! by Gaynor Young.

Leaving my home in George, there are naturally things that I will miss. Here are a few pictures of the things that will pull at me whilst being away:

I will miss Mums obviously. FaceTime will be running between us regularly!
Mums has just celebrated her birthday!
Mums was so sickly I never thought she would reach her 50th birthday. What joy the family had, marching into her bedroom, with a tea tray, roses and presents on her 81st birthday. We partied the day away!!!

It is Perdita, my little ageing wire haired dachshund, that I will long for. 
After I leave, Perdita apparently sits by the front door waiting for my appearance. For three days. On the fourth day, she gives up, abandons the door and promptly settles in to her new home.

Every night, I go to sleep with Perdita tucked into my side and Spencer, my cockatiel, muttering beneath his covered cage on my left. I just adore sharing my flat with Spencer. Every morning, with Perdita crouched on my lap, Spencer comes out of his cage and has an exploratory walk around my bed.
I look so forward to going back to his bed walk explorations.

We have a coffee house in George, Ground Control.
The coffee and carrot cake are ambrosial. I had to think quite seriously about going overseas. No Ground Control carrot cake for almost a month!!!

Every morning I gaze up at my George mountain and am perpetually astounded by such incredible ‘God-made’ beauty!!!

My friend, Jans, introduced me to succulents.
She came round with a glorious windmill, beautiful rocks she had picked up at the beach, and my first fleshy, multi-coloured succulents. I have added more as time has moved on.  How I love letting Perdita out every morning and perusing my sensational plants. I wonder how they will change during these weeks of separation?

I’m leaving Perdita with Mums and her best friend, Brendan. How I adore that little black and tan bundle of lively mischief. He is so good for Perdita. He is forty-eight dog years old and Perdita is one hundred and five. With his youthful vigour and zest, he keeps my ‘little old lady’ on the go. My best thing is watching them sleeping together. He rests his chin on Perdita’s back as they drift into the world of dreams.

I will love my time in England. I will be seeing special places but even better, I will be reconnecting with people I love that mean so much to me. 

And then….I will go home.

This quote sums up my feelings exactly:

“The magic thing about home is that it feels good to leave, and it feels even better to come back.”
Wendy Wunder, The Probablily of Miracles

The post There’s no place like home! appeared first on 'ear 'ear! by Gaynor Young.

Two brown eyes met mine.
They held and something seemed to spark between us. Then she turned her attention back to her puppies again.
“Once the puppies are weaned, we will sterilise her and then she is all yours.”
That was how Perdita, my wire haired dachshund, entered my life.
When I think of the joy, laughter and happiness that changed my entire being that day, my heart softens towards any animal shelter or animal rescue operation.

Recently I received a Facebook message from Susan Rae Fox. She is a volunteer for an organisation called, St Francis Animal Rescue. She asked me to speak at a fundraiser for the charity being held at The Links in St Francis. I agreed to significantly lower my fee and because my best friend, B, was going home to England shortly, we had to organise everything quickly. She would drive me through to the Eastern Cape on Easter Sunday. Easter Monday was Speech Day! 

We arrived at this beautiful Guest House, Sandals. We went downstairs for a much needed cup of tea and then Sue and a sparkling eyed woman, Bernice Katakuzinos, arrived to welcome us. I liked Sue instantly. She is buoyant and simultaneously a no nonsense type of person. The next day, before my speech, she gave a wonderful introduction stating just why I was there – to raise funds for St Francis Animal Rescue. 

My speech was well received. As Sue later wrote to me:
“Your talk received a standing ovation from our audience – our first! There wasn’t a dry eye in the audience at the end – but we also enjoyed a lot of belly laughs. You are, indeed, one of this country’s best motivational speakers – and a courageous, vibrant, fascinating and inspirational woman.”
High praise indeed from a woman who is doing such incredible work amongst our four legged population.

Behind the breathtaking scenery of St Francis Bay, lies a whole other reality. Sea Vista, is the local township and it is an impoverished community that is battling to stay alive. Struggling to put food on their own tables, it is not surprising that the dogs and cats are left to fend for themselves. Hundreds of dogs and cats are battling to stay alive.
A Rescue Group of willing volunteers was formed!

The aim is to sterilise as many cats and dogs as possible in Sea Vista. This helps put a stop to the birth of unwanted pups and kittens. Hopefully reducing the neglect and abuse that stems from this. It is unbelievable how many homeless animals there are. Orphaned and ownerless dogs scavenge their way to survival. Abused and neglected dogs are removed from their owners and re-homed. In St Francis Bay itself, there are pet owners that emigrate. What do they do with their ‘family’ of dogs and cats? Leave them behind! There are dogs and cats whose owners no longer want them because they are considered a nuisance. Those who have become too aggressive. Those that are too sick, too old or too costly to care for. Or owners who find their pet requires too much attention or training they can’t be bothered to give. There are also instances when owners die and leave their animals behind without instructions for their care.

I find anger, immense distress and sadness battling inside of me. How dare people treat their ‘pets’ in this way? But those are the wrong emotions to tackle situations like these. St Francis Animal Rescue deal with the dogs and cats in a marvellous, practical way.

I asked Sue how big the animal shelter of St Francis Bay Animal Rescue was? She laughed.
“We don’t have an animal shelter. Every Thursday a group of us work out of our cars. We put up tables and there are various stations. 

At our ‘Kitten and Puppy’ station, deworming and flea and tick protection takes place. We also confiscate very sick puppies and kittens and put them into foster care if we believe they have a chance at surviving in a more controlled and caring environment.

At our ‘medical station’, we offer de-worming for adult dogs and cats. We also treat bites, stab-wounds or burns. We provide eye and ear treatment. In instances where we are presented with very sick or badly injured dogs and cats, we take them immediately to one of the two vets who work with us on a regular basis – Dr Nerine Botha of Aloe Vet in Humansdorp, and Dr Annelise Barker of the Humansdorp Veterinary Practice. These are also the vets involved with our sterilisation program. They charge welfare rates for this work. We certainly keep our vets busy! 

Our ‘bathing station’ is mainly for very dirty puppies who need a shampoo and a good dry, before they can be sprayed with medication for fleas and ticks. We have trained a number of very enthusiastic young children to help us bath and dry these puppies. It’s truly wonderful to see what a good job they are doing, and how carefully they handle these little pups.

We have guttering laid out on the field where we work which we fill with dog pellets so that the mass of visiting dogs are able to eat to their heart’s content.

We have a wonderful group of willing volunteers who act as foster parents. They give love and attention to animals until they can be put up for permanent adoption.”

I have a friend who worked for the SPCA and she has five dogs. Her husband breathed a sigh of relief when she stopped working there.
“Wendy couldn’t resist bringing home the dogs that nobody wanted. Going to bed with a wife and five dogs was a feat that requires no movement and often a balancing act of great dexterity!”
Sue goes one better. She has recently adopted their sixth dog!

After a fire in Sea Vista, St Francis Animal Rescue went into this community to check on the dogs and cats. They came into contact with Ruby. Ruby is a Pit Bull and was a year old. She was pregnant with her second litter of puppies. That totally horrifies me. One equates one year of our time as equivalent to seven years of a dog’s life. That meant that ‘seven year old’ Ruby was pregnant for the second time. As far as I’m concerned, Ruby was raped! The owner said that he intended selling the puppies in Humansdorp, an area renowned for it’s dog fighting. Ruby was so thin that you could easily count her ribs. She was starving. St Francis Animal Rescue began feeding and visiting her regularly. Ruby’s eyes lit up and her tail smiled when she saw them. Once she had her puppies, they made their move. Together with an SPCA inspector, they swooped in and confiscated Ruby and the pups. She weaned her them and they were duly adopted.
Sue kept Ruby. How could she let her go?
They were soulmates!

“But how does St Francis Animal Rescue manage to afford everything?”
“Ah, there’s the question!” Sue answered with a sigh. “We are battling. Our expenses amount to about R40 000 a month, sometimes more. We survive on donations and, quite frankly, I can see the incredible work we are accomplishing, simply drying up for lack of money.”
I am including this post which Susan Rae Fox recently published on Facebook. She makes her plea with an insider’s knowledge:

“St Francis Animal Rescue organisation is entirely funded by donations. We’re fortunate to have a small team of fundraisers who work consistently to raise money to enable our charity to perform our vital work. We are, without doubt, the most active charity in St Francis, and use walks, talks, bake sales, golf days, concerts, dog shows, fashion shows, art exhibitions, wellness expos – you name it! – to create awareness of what we do and encourage support from local animal lovers.
Our monthly expenses are in the region of R40,000 – sometimes more – and include vet expenditure (sterilisations and medical cases); outreach medicines, including vaccines, de-wormers and spray for fleas and ticks; food purchases and incidentals, including kennels, cat traps, collars and leads and printing costs for fundraiser promotions.
We’re currently promoting our Have a Heart Fund, whereby animal lovers donate R100 per month into our bank account, to help our charity become more sustainable.
We have about 70 members so far – but we’re a long way from our desired membership of 400.

For those who wish to support our cause, please make your donation to:
St Francis Animal Rescue
Standard Bank Branch no: 050015
Business Savings Account
Account no: 186532814
We’re most grateful – as are the cats and dogs in Sea Vista – for any help you may be able to offer.”

I give so much thanks for animal rescue teams, like the one at St Francis and for the nationwide SPCA. Due to them I have had Perdita in my life for the past thirteen years. Many people spend their nights in bed with their spouse or partner. I look across at the head lying on the pillow next to mine. Perdita, my rescue dog, who doesn’t even snore.
Or if she does, I can’t hear it!!!

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